


Haunted House

by Dragomir



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Haunted Houses, Insanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/pseuds/Dragomir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows about the house on the edge of town and the crazy lady who lived there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunted House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steph_Schell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steph_Schell/gifts), [3988Akasha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/gifts), [Timid_Timbuktu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timid_Timbuktu/gifts), [ElDiablito_SF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/gifts), [hithelleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hithelleth/gifts).



> So, my contribution to Rachel Matheson week over on tumblr.
> 
> Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

Rachel Matheson was an unusual woman.

For the most part, she kept to herself in the decrepit brick mansion on the outskirts of town. Everyone knew the story behind the house, and had never figured out just _why_ the woman would want to live there. (The realtor had been trying to sell it for years, but no one wanted to live in a house where fifteen murders had been committed over the course of the previous tenant's residence there.) Neighbors reported a multitude of strange noises coming from the house at all hours of the day or night. No one wanted to be the one to check up on it; the police who investigated noise complaints on the rare occasions when someone picked up the courage to call found nothing out of the ordinary, and apologized for wasting Mrs. Matheson's time.

She said she didn't mind the visits. It kept things from getting too quiet.

The police often left in a hurry after she said that. It was probably the smile on her face that did it.

The truth was, Rachel preferred people to stay away. She had more important things to worry about. Like her fifteen-year-old son. If anyone found him, they'd take him away. She knew, logically, that they couldn't—Ben was dead and who knew where Charlie was—but she still worried. (She constantly worried that Charlie would find them and force her to put Danny back in a hospital. Of course, her eighteen-year-old daughter couldn't do that either, but Rachel thought she had a right to be worried. Stranger things had happened.)

Danny preferred to stay in his room most of the time. Rachel wished he'd be more social, but she wasn't going to argue. He was happy, at least. And she didn't have to think about someone taking him away from her again. Someone had already tried that when he'd born, but she hadn't let them. She'd sat up for hours in the NICU, just to make sure her baby wasn't taken away. She was his mother; that was her job.

Fifteen years after the fact, though, Rachel was sure she would have given up on her crusade to keep her youngest child safe. But Danny was special, and he needed almost constant care.

That was why Rachel kept to herself. She might pick something up from the people in town and, while she'd be able to survive it, Danny wouldn't be able too. He was fragile.

She wandered back into the kitchen, intent on lunch. Sandwiches and some kind of soup. It was one of those kinds of day, and Danny liked warm soup when it was raining or cold outside. Naturally, she was a little surprised to see him sitting in the kitchen, looking pale and gaunt as usual. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead automatically, frowning at how clammy his skin was.

"You need to go back to bed, sweetie," Rachel said softly, smoothing a few errant strands of blonde hair away from her son's forehead. "You don't look so good."

" _You're hurting me…_ " Danny mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. He left, though. Rachel shrugged and made lunch for both of them, before carrying it up to Danny's room. He'd be hungry, and maybe they'd watch something on television later.

Danny looked up when she entered the room. " _Why won't you let me go?_ "

Rachel smiled at him and kissed his forehead. "Because you're my little boy, and I love you. Now, drink your soup at least." The rest of the meal passed in silence, and Rachel took the dishes back down to the kitchen. Most of Danny's lunch had gone uneaten, although he'd managed to finish most of the soup this time. Rachel sighed and poured what was left down the sink.

He'd get better, eventually, and then everything could go back to how it should have been, if he'd never been ill in the first place.

That was how life in the Matheson residence went for several more months. Several neighbors called the police again, complaining about the noise, and that became routine as well. At least one charitable soul a month tried to clean up around the property for her, although most of them left, feeling uneasy at staying there for very long. Rachel was grateful that none of them reported seeing Danny.

(It was quite possible that she was paranoid by that point, but it was better safe than sorry where her baby was concerned.)

During one such attempt to clean the worst of the vines away from the house, the man who'd lost the coin toss happened to look inside the basement window. An ambulance arrived shortly thereafter. Rachel was taken to the hospital. Several hours after that, the police were dispatched to her home to take a look for the boy—her son, Danny—who was supposed to be there as well.

The only thing they found was an old grave in the backyard.

Inscribed in the stone was a name—Daniel Sebastian Matheson—and two dates that were heartbreakingly close together.

Tenants who attempted to live in Rachel's home after she was forced to give the place up reported feeling uneasy in the house. None of them stayed more than a few months at a time. It wasn't that there was a feeling that they were about to be murdered (that had died with the tenant before Rachel Matheson, no pun intended), but just that there was something _very_ wrong with the house, as though someone were refusing—or unable—to leave, and was getting _very_ tetchy about it.

It was put down to the pathetic little grave in the backyard and the lingering legacy of Rachel Matheson.

Because there was no such thing as ghosts.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Think Rachel needs a hug? Drop a line and let me know.


End file.
